Readily Spoken, Dearly Remembered
by KnittedSweater
Summary: A collection of one-shots inspired by powerful quotes. Slight cursing and spoilers from seasons/series one to four(subject to change). AU's may pop up. Chapter Two: The power of one man doesn't amount to much, but however little strength I'm capable of, I'll do everything humanly possible to protect the people I love, and in turn, they'll protect the ones they love.
1. Chapter 1

**so! i'm starting a new thing. yes, i know, i haven't updated run in ages, but i've been on a merlin hype so here. **

**i'm basically starting a story of one-shots inspired by quotes i find! most of them are from a:tla and fma, so if you have a quote you'd like me to do a one-shot on, just slide it down in a message or review. **

**there is cursing near the end here, but other than the little bit at the end, the whole thing's pretty clean.**

**oh, oh, oh, and this is my first fic that doesn't have a one word title! but in all seriousness, i was ready to just name this "words" or "quotes" for God's sake. celebration for me, i guess!**

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**disclaimer: i do not own merlin.**

**total words: 1600 words**

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**Readily Spoken, Dearly Remembered**

**Chapter One**

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_It's time for you to look inward and start asking yourself the big question: who are __**you**__? And what do __**you **__want? - Iroh {Avatar: The Last Airbender}_

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_"Merlin, if you weren't my servant, what would you be doing right now?"_

The prince's words echoed through his head once again. Arthur had asked it weeks ago, but it still stuck with him. What would he be doing right now, had he not come to Camelot? Would he still be with his mother, a pariah in his hometown? Would he be dead, burnt at the stake by Uther himself?

"…_What would I be doing right now?"_

At that time, they had been on a hunt. They were resting for the night with a good share of food that could be passed around twice. Everybody else had dozed off, drowsy from their full bellies and Gwaine's outrageous, yet successful, prank of somehow tainting the knights' water with alcohol he had gotten one way or another (he did have very good resources). Merlin, seeing exactly what Gwaine was doing, skillfully hid his and Arthur's water skins under his jacket (never trust Gwaine when he offers to fill water skins, never ever). So that left the master and manservant alone to admire their drunken, sleep-fallen faces that would surely be subjected to horrendous hangovers, guessing from the way they'd all just slumped to the ground.

Merlin, who wasn't feeling very tired (for once in his life since reaching Camelot) vouched for the first watch. That left Arthur lying not but a foot away from where Merlin perched on a large tree root. Night creatures called for each other as Merlin fingered the thick, yellowing pages of an anatomy book he'd promised Gaius he'd study. Within it were pictures of skeletons and various procedures that required precise cutting of the bone or popping two badly broken parts in place with each other. It was enough to keep him occupied, but not enough to fully engross him. Arthur was restless, turning and shifting, fluffing up the sack that served as his pillow.

"_What's wrong; can't sleep?"_

_Arthur twisted around, as he was flattening out his blanket on his opposite side. "Well, if you haven't noticed, Merlin, it's quite uncomfortable, lying here on the ground."_

_Merlin shrugged and pushed out his palms in resignation. "Okay, okay, I get it. The oh-so royal, so noble Prince Arthur can't take sleeping on a dirt ground. I get it."_

_Arthur glared at him, a sort of annoyed twinge in them, but looked away. He clearly was not up for any banter, especially after Gwaine's lovely gift from the tavern that gave him a load of giddy and currently dead to the world knights. _

_Minutes passed between them. A very large, very, very detailed paragraph on how to correctly amputate a hand in the book had Merlin's horrified attention for some while. There were even pictures to match. _

"_I am never, ever, going to do an amputation," he muttered to himself. "Nope, not even if Arthur's whole forearm is literally the color of death from frostbite. I won't do it." _

_Arthur breathed out a chuckle. "Good to know, Merlin."_

_Merlin's eyes jerked up to see Arthur with a half-grin on his face. He, too, chuckled a bit. "But really, if you ever, ever get frostbite, I'm handing you over to Gaius."_

_Arthur's smile widened just a bit._

_Twenty crinkles of the pages later, Merlin marked his place in the book with a small scrap of fabric. Closing it with a thud of finality, he set the book to his right and gave a low sigh. Slowly, he stood up and carefully worked through the kinks in his toes, knees, spine, and neck. The popping of his bones sounded like a marble dropping sharply on a tile floor, just the tiniest bit subdued. He took in deep breaths as he fought to stay awake. He definitely didn't want to deal with a cranky knight or two. As he was stretching his hands and shoulders, a voice shocked him out of his groggy watch ritual. _

"_Merlin?" It was Arthur._

_After recovering for a few seconds from the shock, he answered. "Yes Arthur?"_

"_Merlin, if you weren't my servant, what would you be doing right now?" A sort of uncertainty had crept up in Arthur's voice, as if he didn't want to know the answer, but had asked anyways._

_Merlin leaned on the tree behind him, eyes narrowing in deep thought. Arthur began to wonder if his manservant had even heard him, or didn't have the heart to answer. A minute passed. Two minutes passed. _

"…_What would I be doing right now?" It was Merlin's turn to wonder. The words rolled off his tongue awkwardly, with a bit of confusion laced in. Where would he be? Probably still in Ealdor. What would he be doing? Probably looking for work or tending to his mother. All of that, or he'd be dead. _

_Arthur, on the other hand, wasn't having the same ease as Merlin did. He just couldn't imagine Merlin not being there. He couldn't imagine not seeing him every day. He couldn't possibly imagine what his life would be like without Merlin, so he wondered what Merlin's life would be without him. Judging by what little he knew, he would probably still be in Ealdor, doing only God knows what. Ealdor was a very borderline village, teetering on the thin line between Cendred and Uther's lands. This also meant that it was quite poor. Outlying villages didn't get as much attention as they needed, nor as much prosperity. Nobody noble wanted to live that far from the royal base. _

_Would he be dead? _

_After all, there was an awful-hearted man there, stealing from those who could barely feed themselves on a daily basis. The man hadn't the kindest of faces, nor the kindest of tempers. If Merlin was as stubborn and as haughty as he was now, would he be dead? Gashes dripping blood across his back? Broken bones? The screams of his mother? God, Arthur just didn't know. He couldn't fathom living a life like that, but they were entirely different people. Poor and rich. Lower-middle class and royalty. Citizen and prince. Servant and master. But they were more than that, right? They were friends, as far as Arthur knew. They'd stood by each other, advised each other, had this once mocking sort of bond that grew. He couldn't imagine not having Merlin there, by his side, every day, doing the clumsy little things expected of him. He couldn't imagine Merlin as just another dead citizen to prove a point. They'd grown so close._

_Don't say dead; don't say dead; don't say dead; don't day dead – _

"…_I'd probably be dead by now, actually." Those words had hit Arthur with the force of a sword stringing right through somebody's ribcage, and then right through their heart. _

"_Oh," was all Arthur could manage to say._

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And now, weeks later, Merlin sat, wide awake on his bed, the short little conversation picking at his every nerve.

If he hadn't come to Camelot, he'd probably have taken to some other town. He wouldn't have had all of these wonderful memories in the corners of his mind.

But were those memories worth all of the lives lost, both physically, morally, and mentally? Were the memories of one man and the fickle words of a bloodthirsty dragon all he had for who he'd lost?

No, most definitely not.

"…_What would you be doing right now?"_

He couldn't imagine doing anything else.

He wanted a life, he wanted a feeling of family, he wanted some goddamn credit where it was fucking due sometimes, but he still couldn't imagine not being by Arthur's side, whether or not his master knew how much pain his clumsy servant had stuffed within him.

But it was his life. He could change it however he pleased. He didn't have to pay heed to a dragon that turned back on his word and got a revenge that sent him spiraling down a pit of guilt. Why should he stay in Camelot? Why should he stay serving Arthur, when he could become something greater? It was his life. He could do as he damn well pleased. He could seek refuge with the Druids, learn more about magic and become a better person.

Did he want that?

Did he really?

…No, no he didn't. Not being in Camelot would feel like not being able to breathe. Camelot had become a home of sorts, despite the obvious similarities between a tiny village and a bustling city. Of course, he didn't mean Camelot as in the city itself, but the feeling its people had projected onto him. Everybody in Camelot had a sense of loyalty to one another, save for the few that tried to kill Arthur or Uther every other week. Its people had accepted his oddities, and he was quite open-minded to anything when he first stepped through that stone gate.

But most of all, he wouldn't be able to stand not having Arthur by his side. He wouldn't be able to stand not knowing whether Arthur was alright or not. He wouldn't be able to stand not being able to do anything for the prince, now that he had done so much and was ready to do much more in order to save his life.

No, he wouldn't want a life without Arthur.

He was content with this destiny, and he hoped it would stay that way.


	2. Chapter 2

**this one turned out lengthy. i'm not very happy with it, but i had it sitting in my folders so i decided to post it and get it over with. hee.**

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**disclaimer: i do not own merlin.**

**total words: 2974 words**

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**Readily Spoken, Dearly Remembered**

**Chapter Two**

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_The power of one man doesn't amount to much, but however little strength I'm capable of, I'll do everything humanly possible to protect the people I love, and in turn, they'll protect the ones they love. – Roy Mustang {Fullmetal Alchemist}_

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All in all, the day started with a beautiful sunshine cascading down on the stone streets of Camelot. A sunshine that was perfect for waking up Arthur with. So with a little jump in his step and a happy tune whistling through his lips, Merlin strutted out of Gaius' chambers. Already, the orange rays were beginning to reflect off of the castle's windows.

As Merlin walked closer and closer to Arthur's chambers, he swore he could feel a sort of tension striking through the air. It wafted through the corridors like the smell of freshly baked pies from the kitchen. He wondered if something had happened while he was gone. Last night, a shaky sort of servant had told Arthur that the king had requested his presence. Arthur's face had a sour look on it when he told Merlin that he had the rest of the evening off. As much as he wanted to know what was going on, he was also tired to the point where it hurt to stand, so he gladly took the leave and fell asleep before his head even hit his pillow.

Now, though, as he saw servants walking cautiously and very dutifully through the corridors, not sparing one glance at him, he wished he'd figured out what was going on. Each servant's face was screwed up in concern. Not even Gwen, a bubble of pure happiness and joy, looked the slightest bit happy. When she glanced at him, he swore that her eyes winced in pity. There was nothing but that and a tiny nod before she made her own way in the opposite direction, her long stride echoing in the hallway.

Taking a little hint from the whole atmosphere in the castle, he knocked sharply and carefully unto Arthur's door, something that was completely unheard of until now. No noise could be heard from inside the room, so after counting to ten, Merlin eased the door open and carefully shut it.

When he turned around, it looked like all hell had broken loose. Papers were strewn across the floor, most of them ripped to shreds. Clothes were draped here and there. The large drawer holding the clothes had been knocked over in disdain, the corners chipped and splintered. The table and chairs were crudely pushed against the wall, as if someone had kicked it in pure anger (which it probably was). In the midst of the mess sat Arthur Pendragon himself, back against the foot board of his bed. His knees were slightly pulled up to his chest, and his hands were gripping through his hair. And his eyes… his eyes were wide open, crinkled with a load of anger and hurt, and possibly a hint of betrayal (his gritting teeth were also a testament to that).

"What do you want?" Arthur's voice was husky with the after effects of a total breakdown.

Merlin gulped. "Arthur… it's me. Merlin."

Almost immediately, Arthur's head snapped up to look at him. The anger was replaced with sadness; the hurt replaced with pity. The manservant's eyebrows shot up at the change in the air. Why did everybody pity him today? What had happened last night?

As quick as it had come, Arthur's eyes hardened to the look of a war-brewed prince. He looked away from Merlin, finding more interest in a tiny bit of stone on the floor.

In all honesty, right now, Arthur felt like _shit. _

He felt like he'd let Merlin down. Despite their roles, they truly cared for each other. Both of them knew it. The whole entirety of Camelot knew it, for fuck's sake. Merlin had felt like family. They could bicker, they could throw hollow insults at each other, but they understood each other. Or, that's at least what Arthur hoped. There were few who really understood Arthur; there were even fewer who could stand to listen to his rambling and deal with his anger. In fact, there were really only three people: Merlin, Gaius, and Gwen, with Merlin getting the brunt of it. He and Merlin sure as hell never had the same situations, but they cared enough about each other to know when to listen and when to give advice.

But, goddammit, he just felt like he disappointed Merlin – no, scratch that, not just Merlin, but everybody he cared about. Merlin was as gentle as a dandelion, no one could deny that. Not even the manliest of men or the mightiest of knights could deny that Merlin had this sort of effect of everybody, where your mood brightened just like _that _when he was around. Arthur and many other knights were a true testament to that.

Smiling, gleeful Merlin. Arthur had only seen the boy go into a sort of mopey mood twice. It was unnatural for him to be sad. It was as if the universe had been turned backwards and inside out when Merlin was sad. Nothing felt right. Merlin was one of the kindest people he'd ever met; despite his smart mouth, he was truly concerned about Arthur. He didn't give fake bouts of concern like so many did. He truly cared, and that was something Arthur was grateful for.

So in return, Arthur had decided that he would look out for Merlin's mother, along with the whole of Ealdor, of course. Cendred was nowhere to be found, which left his cities under a questionable rule. Ealdor was literally sitting on the border between Camelot and Cendred's former lands. Neither Merlin nor Uther knew anything about this, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Gwaine, Lancelot, and the other knights were more than happy to do sweeps in and around the tiny village every third week. The first sweep was conducted by Gwaine and Percival. They rode without their flowing red cloaks, as they didn't want to cause a commotion with those who were still loyal to Cendred. Merlin's mother had been very kind to the two of them, once she knew who they were. She had lent them a place to stay for the two days they spent in the village. After that, they rode out to the other villages within two days' worth of horseback riding from Ealdor. There were only five villages, most of them just as tiny and homey as Merlin's hometown.

When the two had gotten back to Camelot, their reports contained mentions of starvation and unfertile lands. A near-draught had also been affecting a certain village west of Ealdor, in Cendred's lands. Needless to say, when the next third week rolled around, Arthur sent Elyan and Lancelot with a load of goods that took another two horses to carry. Most of the goods had been distributed to the people in Ealdor, where they thanked them for their kindness. The rest still took the weight on one horse, and was evenly distributed between the five other villages, who also thanked them profusely for their kindness. The near-draught city had cheered when the large tub of water was sitting in the middle of town near the well.

The reports brought smiles to Arthur and the knights. Merlin was left absolutely in the dark about it, and when he asked about the knights that were missing for a few days, they just told them that they were doing patrols around the more southern parts of Camelot. He bought it with a surprising ease, which was, to Arthur, a good sign that he should continue keeping check on the villages. The whole let's-take-care-of-Merlin's-mother project had been going on for six months, with eight visits total. Each visit after the first was filled with reports of gratitude from the citizens, especially Hunith.

But on the ninth visit, something was terribly wrong. When Percival and Leon had come to Ealdor, a plume of smoke had Hunith and many other villagers wide-eyed and fearful for what was to come. Determined to see what was going on, the two traveled out immediately after distributing their goods. They found nothing but charred ruins upon where Ferrien, the near-draught village from so long ago, once stood. The wooden houses had burned down easily, catching fire from each other. Some buildings were still smoldering, and a thin layer of the putrid smoke had yet to clear. Leon began poking through the houses' blackened remains for survivors, or at the very least, bodies. The only building that hadn't been completely burnt was the little half-stone half-wooden tavern the knights had stayed in many times. Seeing as Leon was quite busy, Percival started towards it. He found that a strip of cloth pinned by an arrow was attached to the door. When he looked down, the bright, hazel eyes of the innkeeper's daughter met his. She was under the fallen flag of the tavern, lying horizontally with the wall. If he hadn't seen her eyes glancing fearfully up at him, he wouldn't have noticed her. Her dress was torn in the back, and she was trembling from head to toe. Her face, still chubby from her baby fat, was covered in soot and specks of blood streaked by tears.

The girl whimpered, and Percival's heart broke.

The giant of a knight knelt down to look at the girl. She had flinched away now, curling into a ball and pulling the flag tighter around her. Her whimpers had grown louder now, and she was shaking harder than ever before. Tears were flowing down her face.

"…Please…don't hurt me…" Her voice shook with a lost innocence that ripped the remains of Percival's heart to complete shreds and pounded it into a fine dust. He felt a lump growing in his throat. She was so innocent, so carefree before all of this had happened.

Now, she was broken and crying, her innocence long forgotten with the dying screams of her family.

"Do you remember me?" Percival asked softly.

The girl nodded. "You're one of those people with swords. You gave us food. You stayed at the inn."

"Do you trust me?"

The girl gulped back the sobs stuck in her throat. "Mister Gwaine trusts you. So I trust you. He said that you're one of the _good guys._ Daddy said that, too."

And then, with a cry full of anguish and despair and an inward curl of her lips, the toddler launched herself at the knight. She sobbed into his shirt, staining it with tears and snot, screaming herself hoarse, but Percival couldn't care less. Leon came bounding around the corner, and upon seeing the sight, motioned that they should leave for Camelot. On the ride back, Fiona – the girl – spent the entire time either clinging to Percival's back or riding on Leon's shoulders.

Arthur was distressed when they'd told him of the destruction. Within two days' time, they would most likely reach Ealdor or another nearby village, and burn it down to ashes, just like they did Ferrien. Fiona was left in the care of Gwen and the other female servants of the royal household. Most of them had children, which meant _experience_ (something that Gwen and Arthur lacked, quite frankly).

As it stood, Arthur's only available option was to tell his father about it. When Arthur had expressed his concern, Uther's face stood a tad bit confused. But it quickly changed to a stern look as the king launched into his _they're-not-as-important-we-won't-have-a-repeat-of-last-time_ speech. Although, Uther did not expect his son to shout back at him, tell him that everybody's equal. His son was in a frenzy, wildly using gestures, and even managed to give a guard a black eye when he was sent away. This left Uther sighing sadly. When would Arthur ever understand? Some people were just worth more than others.

He decided he would try to drill it into his son's thick skull later that night.

Arthur was yet again, torn by his father's lack of compassion for the people. It had gotten so bad that Arthur had considered using the _you-could-gain-more-land_ tactic, but he didn't want to have to stoop so _low. _

"_Thousands will die! Villages will be burnt down to the ground! Children will lose their family and friends! Why don't you care about any of that?! Why can't you see that we're the same, father?! There are so many lives at stake, and yet we're standing here in your chambers, having a petty argument about whether people are equal or not when we could be packing provisions to save these helpless people! Dammit, people are going to die! Does nobody else's life matter except for yours anymore? If I dropped dead right now, would you even care? Would you even bat an eyelash? I'd bet everything that you wouldn't! You're a greedy, mislead, horrid excuse for a king! I'll never be like you! Ever!"_

Needless to say, they were both furious. Uther had backhanded him and yelled at him to get out (which Arthur was more than _happy_ to do).

That is why Arthur now sat in the middle of a mess spawned from his own anger. And when Merlin had walked in, his voice was nothing short of concerned, which left Arthur feeling even more like shit, even more disappointed in himself.

" – thur, Ar_thur,_ are you alright?"

The prince snapped out of his angered daze and glanced at Merlin, who was much closer now. He had knelt in front of Arthur, and was eyeing the small, but deep, gash that Uther had inflicted on him.

"Turn your head. I need to check the cut for infections." Somehow, as if Arthur had been out of it for more than a few seconds, he saw the water bucket and cloth that had been laid beside Merlin. Doing as he was told, Arthur turned his head the slightest bit. With the gentleness of a butterfly crawling on a windowsill, Merlin dabbed at the little cut. Once it was clean and patched with a bit of bandage, Merlin's shoulders slumped and his hands fell to his lap.

"You shouldn't get into arguments with your father, you know. It's bad for your relationship."

Arthur glanced up. "How'd you know?"

"Only Uther backhands people, and he has a mean ring on his hand." Merlin said it as if Arthur had asked him what day it was.

Silence rung in both of their ears for a short while.

"Merlin, I have to tell you something." Arthur's eyes held a pained expression.

A little taken back, Merlin answered. "Go on, then."

"There's this group of bandits."

"There are bandits everywhere, Arthur."

"No, Merlin, you don't understand. These bandits – they're not _normal._ They burnt a village to a crisp. We only found one survivor."

"I don't mean to be rude. That is a terrible thing, but I'm afraid I don't understand the nature of this information."

Arthur gritted his teeth. "…We think they're going to target Ealdor."

In that instant, Merlin turned pale. He was trembling slightly. "Eal…dor? Oh _gods…"_

Arthur cleared his throat. He couldn't bear to see his friend like this. "Merlin, Merlin, I tried. I tried so _hard,_ but my father wouldn't listen. He said that we shouldn't care about those villages, because they're poor and far away. Merlin, I tried, but my father, he's furious and blind, oh Merlin, I'm so sor – "

"I have to go. It doesn't matter whether or not you go, Ealdor's where my mother lives. I can't – I can't just very well leave her to _die!_ She's my mother, and I love her, and I – I can't just abandon her – " He broke off into a crumple of sobs. He felt so weak, so helpless.

"…I'm going with you. I don't care what my father says; he has no sense of loyalty to the people. He doesn't understand. I'll come with you, because you need me, because we're friends, and you care for me and I care for you. It's just… difficult, because my father can't get it through his thick skull that everybody's equal. Merlin, I'm going. We're going to ride out together at the moon's peak, and we're going to save Ealdor."

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The fight was brutal and hard upon the knights and the servant. They had arrived just as the sound of yelling and the clanging of swords began.

They couldn't save everyone, but they did their best, and it paid off. To see Merlin's face light up, even when covered in soot and blood, at the sight of his mother safe and sound, was worth every little cut and scrape and bruise upon the knights' bodies. It was worth every curse, every clang, every twinge of pain, and every burning muscle to see that smile upon their friend's face.

Never in a million years did they think that watching a simple, lengthy hug would bring them to tears.

But when it came to Merlin, anything was possible.


End file.
